The Harrington Case
by TheGullibleOne
Summary: fill for prompt on livejournal: 'John discovers a comment on his blog, it is a very detailed/intense torture involving Sherlock and an unamed fan. The story is yet unfinished, but he's not doing very well.. John shrugs it off as some weirdo on the net..'
1. A Week Off

AN: I really need to update my stories... Um... Well, I posted this on livejournal as anonymous.. But I recieved good feedback.. so I thought Id post on here!

**1**

**Posted by John H. Watson**

A Week Off

Sherlock's been absent for the last week, working on that Harrington Case DI Lestrade had assigned him. Which meant I was left here at Baker Street. Alone. He'd said that he didn't need me for this one, and that I'd "just get in the way". And oddly enough, I agreed with him, I'm not as 'fit' as I used to be, and certainly not as agile. Oh, and a week being wasted by chasing after a suspect across Oxfordshire just didn't appeal to me either… Especially in this horrid weather..

So I've spent it as normal and as ordinary as I possibly could – like a holiday away from the mighty Sherlock Holmes… at home… - that meant no chasing after criminals, visiting the morgue, or being kidnapped.. _cough..cough.. Mycroft.. cough.. _

Just me, sleep, and the television. It's heaven!

Though, I have to say, it's been weird waking up to the quietness. It just… it just doesn't feel right. I guess I'm so used to be being woken at stupid hours by that damn violin, or to help the ever-so-brilliant flatmate with a case, or some crazed experiment.. I will probably never know what 'normal' is anymore…

Anyway, I've achieved some things over the last few days. I've actually managed to tidy the flat up! 221b is entirely spotless, and the floor is actually visible! Sherlock will probably, most likely, hate me for it… But who cares, it's nice for it to be tidy, for once. And.. He may also not be pleased that I've moved his experiments to a... uh.. more suitable place..

This newfound freedom will unfortunately come to an end, sadly, as Sherlock will be back soon. Not sure when, but he'd said that he'd be gone for two weeks at the most. So I'm just waiting for that text… not that I mi—Oh, Mrs Hudson has just told me that Sarah's outside, so I must go. Ah, a date which won't be interrupted.. at last!

I'l update when he gets back.

_Posted: 8/1/2011 at 5.48pm_

7 comments

* * *

Good to hear, bro!

Harry Watson 8 February 18:00

* * *

Have fun, dear! And congratulations in tidying the flat! It looks brand new!

Marie Turner 8 February 18:05

* * *

It's Mrs Hudson..

Marie Turner 8 February 18:08

* * *

You go get her, tiger! You deserve a night of fun!

Bill Murray 8 February 18:37

* * *

Thanks for yesterday, John! It was great! =] want to meet up again?

Sarah Sawyer 9 February 15:29

* * *

Sure! Same place and time?

John Watson 9 February 15:35

* * *

Ok, see you later =D

Sarah Sawyer 9 February 15:40


	2. Just A Little Notice

AN: Not sure when I'm going to update next... sorry!

****

2a

_Posted by John H. Watson_

**Just A Little Notice**

I know I said I'd update when Sherlock gets back… But he hasn't. It's been three weeks since he left, and I've only heard from him once. I'm getting worried..  
Maybe I'm just paranoid, he's probably forgotten to text me that the case will take longer than he thought it would.. So that he'll be home late..  
Oh, who knows with him… I'll see if he's contacted Lestrade later…

_Posted at: 29/1/2011 at 14:05pm_

13 comments

* * *

If you are truly beginning to turn paranoid, please ring me, John.  
E Thompson 29 February 14:29

* * *

Well. At least we… I mean you… have had a bit more freedom =D  
Sarah Sawyer 29 February 14:39

* * *

True.. true.. see you tonight?  
John Watson 29 February 14:45

* * *

Sure, usual place at 6?  
Sarah Sawyer 29 February 14:48

* * *

Yeah, see you then!  
John Watson 29 February 14:50

* * *

Haven't heard from him, sorry. Thought I'd let you know now, to save you the hassle of calling.  
Lestrade 29 February 14:53

* * *

Oh, thanks, I wonder how he is… I'm gonna try calling him..  
John Watson 29 February 15:03

* * *

Hmm.. He's not picking up..  
John Watson 29 February 15:28

* * *

The slumped figure trembled as the phone lit up once more, abandoned in the centre of the small cell. The faint light illuminated his alabaster skin, revealing his captors torturous art. The once pale skin was now stained blood-red, adorned with the heavy colourings of bruises, and of the deep cuts and burns from the previous games from just not that long ago.  
He was gagged, bound, and naked, tied helplessly to the floor. He groaned as he pulled weakly against the cold metal that held him in place, trying to reach out for the phone; his only way in communicating to the outside world, for help. But it was no use. He collapsed, sighing, it was pointless, why waste the energy he had left? So instead, he stared intensely towards the phone, willing it to come to him.. almost begging… _please…_  
The sound of a door creaking open interrupted his thoughts as it echoed eerily within the stone room. He began to whimper, pressing himself up against the wall in vain to hide from his captor. Footsteps followed, growing _louder_.. _louder_… _Louder_…

Then it stopped.

Silence…

'_click_'

He froze, horror spreading across his battered features as the door-handle suddenly burst to life as it was shaken with such a manic force. The door slammed open, and light burst brightly into the cell, revealing a tall silhouette examining a large butchers knife.

"Why, my dear Sherlock, are you ready to play some more?"  
unknownuser 29 February 16:38

* * *

I'm sorry… what?  
Harry Watson 29 February 16:40

* * *

That's just weird.. Why's the freak in your… 'story'?  
sallydonovan 29 February 16:45

* * *

Hello?  
sallydonovan 29 February 16:50

* * *

Um... Right. I think you've posted this is the wrong place... This is a blog.. _my_ blog.. not some.. story thing...  
John Watson 29 February 16:58


	3. Sherlock He's A Nuisance

AN: here's the next part...!

**2b**

**Sherlock. He's A Nuisance...**

He's still not picking up.. It's ringing, but there's no answer.. I don't if I'm either meant to be worried, concerned, or just not bothered at all..

_Posted at: 29/1/2011 at 17:05pm_

23 comments

* * *

He's probably just busy.. I wouldn't blame him, that Harrington case seemed rather complicated.. Even for him!  
Marie Turner 29 January 17:10

* * *

You know who I am..  
Marie Turner 29 January 17:11

* * *

"Now then," he slowly withdrew the blade, causing Sherlock to writhe underneath, "I think that's enough for now, don't you think? Let that pretty body of yours..." he slammed the knife back down into his shoulder, shoving him against the floor. Sherlock gasped. "... Rest? I've planned something special for you for tomorrow, oh so special..."  
He removed the knife once more, and left, leaving Sherlock once more to the darkness.

He opened his eyes, welcoming the silence. The emotions he'd hidden during their latest game were now showing; the pain, the guilt, the despair, all rushing through his weakened body at once. His sociopathic mind just couldn't handle it.. Couldn't take how weak, how human, he was..  
He winced as he attempted to sit up, blood swelling from the fresh, deep wounds. He gagged, feeling the bile rise up in his throat as he examined what his captor had done to him.  
He was a mess.. A toy.. _A work of art_... Who would want him now? Surely no one would.. His father never did, so what would he think now? He was hardly recognisable..

He grimaced as his phones' screen lit up again.

_John._

John Watson.

_John_ would want him. Wouldn't he? Care for him? Help him..?

If he did.. Then where was he?  
unknownuser 29 January 17:20

* * *

I've honestly had enough of you...  
John Watson 29 January 17:23

* * *

Seriously, you are WEIRD. Get a life!  
sallydonavon 29 January 17:25

* * *

Jonh.  
unknownuser 29 January 17:40

* * *

Iv. Ffouurd hiss coputer.. Ooh goud.. Hfelp mee.. Johhn..  
unknownuser 29 January 17:43

* * *

Jobnn.? Wwhere are yiu  
unknownuser 29 January 17:45

* * *

John?  
unknownuser 29 January 17:46

* * *

Ohh fuick, jogn.. Hes ciouming.. he nows were i am..John..  
unknownuser 29 January 17:47

* * *

Pease..! Jist say somthng!  
unknownuser 29 January 17:48

* * *

Please..  
unknownuser 29 January 17:49

* * *

John... Hurry..  
unknownuser 29 January 17:51

* * *

John  
unknownuser 29 January 17:52

* * *

It huts Jonh  
unknownuser 29 January 17:53

* * *

I dont wan to play anymre..  
unknownuser 29 January 17:54

* * *

You want me' to say something? Ok then... You are one sick person writing this.. What the HELL do you think you are gonna get from it? I don't know who you are, or why you're doing this. But just stop! We aren't interested in these little 'stories'! And I would care for Sherlock, no matter how he is! Now just STOP  
John Watson 29 January 17:54

* * *

Its me john, why w  
unknownuser 29 January 17:57

* * *

Um.. I can't go tonight John, sorry! Somethings come up at work..  
Sarah Sawyer 29 January 18:05

* * *

That's.. That's fine. Need any help?  
John Watson 29 January 18:07

* * *

I'll be fine. Sorry..  
Sarah Sawyer 29 January 18:10

* * *

Don't worry.. I'll see if mrs Hudson wants any company..  
John Watson 29 January 18:12

* * *

Enjoy your night, Dr Watson. I know Sherlock will... _Enjoy_ his... Especially after this.  
unknownuser 29 January 18:22

* * *

I'm just going to ignore you now.  
John Watson 29 January 18:23


	4. Am I Blind?

Part 3

_Posted by John H. Watson_

**Am I that Blind?**

Maybe I'm just ignorant, perhaps even slow… Why didn't I see it before? It's been there, right in front of me all along… And I just needed a little _push_, a letter even, to realise how stupid I've been..!

Dammit… I'm getting straight to the point… You have _no idea_ what I've been through today… I can't... I just… I'm so - _stupid!_

God, why didn't I just act when things were getting odd..?

I now understand how bored Sherlock can get, and how easily it could lead to be wanting to shoot a smiley face into a wall. When he… when he gets – back… I'll tell him that. That'll make him smile… Anyway, my boredom was caused by one landlady, who was sat by me droning on and on, for ages, about Sherlock's health, and how it could affect his 'deducing thingie' - sorry, Mrs Hudson, but I didn't want to interrupt you… And I did need the company as I hadn't seen anyone in a while.

But my troubles didn't start there. Probably about two hours later from Mrs Hudson setting down the tea tray, the doorbell started ringing. I left, leaving Mrs Hudson in the flat- still talking, and went to go see who it was – curious since I wasn't aware of any visitors coming round. Once I reached ground level, it had stopped. But it didn't deter me from checking it out.

Opening the door, thoughts of who it was had flashed through my head. _Sherlock?_ Unlikely, he would have texted me. _Lestrade?_ Why would he come? To see if Sherlock's back? It's unlikely he'd give _me _a case… _Mycroft?_ That… would be unexpected, but if it was… that could have only meant…

But no one was there.

No one.

I'd leaned out, checking whether there was anyone I knew walking down Baker Street. But still, there was no one. Using my limited deduction skills that I picked up from my flatmate, I tried to deduce who may have rang it, perhaps even looked suspicious - but again, none. '_Maybe I imagined the doorbell going off_', I thought whilst closing the door, '_hoping that _he_'d be there…_' But something caught my eye, making me stop; a small brown envelope was sat idly at my feet, addressed to: me.

When I arrived back at the flat, Mrs Hudson was _still _talking. Only when I sat myself beside her did she stop. "What's that?" She had asked. "A letter, don't know who it's from…" I replied as I began to open it.

Inside of the envelope was a folded letter, a small folded letter with what looked like red ink stains. Unfolding it, something fell out; a lock of black hair. Confused, I read the message… Its' chaotic, yet unnervingly familiar handwriting read… it read… Read: '_How do you like the story so far..?_'

And that's when it hit me.

The weird comments on my blog, Sherlock's disappearance, now this… the lock of – Sherlock's – black hair… the message… it all made sense…

_Why hadn't I seen it before..?_

God, please. We need to find him… That ink stain isn't ink… It's… Well, blood. **His **blood… And if those little… _stories _are true… then Sherlock isn't doing well. At all.

We need to find him.

_Posted at: 30/1/2011 at 13:55pm_

20 comments

* * *

I've been reading them… shit… we really need to act…

Lestrade 30 January 14:02

* * *

I've called his brother; he'll give us extra resources…

John Watson 30 January 14:04

* * *

He has a brother?

Lestrade 30 January 14:05

* * *

And how would he give us extra resources anyway?

Lestrade 30 January 14:06

* * *

He works for the Government… no… he **is **the Government…

John Watson 30 January 14:08

* * *

Shit.

Lestrade 30 January 14:09

* * *

Oh, John… Do you want me to come round?

Sarah Sawyer 30 January 14:13

* * *

No. I'm fine. I will be fine…

John Watson 30 January 14:15

* * *

Well, I'm here if you need me…

Sarah Sawyer 30 January 14:16

* * *

Ah – so you received my message then. Well, _his_ message since _he _wrote it…

Unknownuser30 January 14:20

* * *

Just stop it… Why have you done this? _Why?_

John Watson 30 January 14:22

* * *

I thought you said you'd ignore me..?

Unknownuser 30 January 14:24

* * *

That was before I… I knew…

John Watson 30 January 14:26

* * *

Give him back…

John Watson 30 January 14:29

* * *

Hello?

John Watson 30 January 14:37

* * *

Check your post. Tomorrow.

Unknownuser 30 January 14:40

* * *

Why?

John Watson 30 January 14:43

_

* * *

_

What have you done?

John Watson 30 January 14:49

* * *

You will **see**...

Unknownuser 30 January 14:55


	5. Post Received

**4**

_Posted by John H. Watson_

**Post Received**

I'm scared for him… Truly bloody scared…

He didn't deserve that… He didn't ddeserve any of it…

Please… Just sstop this…

_Posted at: 31/1/2011 at 11:37pm_

17 comments

* * *

What's happened John?

Lestrade 31 January 11:39

* * *

He… He sent.. a vvideo… He…

John Watson 31 January 11:49

* * *

Right. Get off of the computer. Now. I'm on my way.

Lestrade 31 January 11:51

* * *

What do you think, then John?

Unknownuser 31 January 11:53

* * *

Think little Sherlock enjoyed his special treat?

Unknownuser 31 January 11:55

_**

* * *

**_

SHUT UP!

John Watson 31 January 11:57

**

* * *

**

JUST SHUT UP!

John Watson 31 January 11:58

* * *

When I find you… I swear - I will kill you myself…

John Watson 31 January 12:01

* * *

That's _if_ you find me…

Unknownuser 31 January 12:02

* * *

I will.

John Watson 31 January 12:03

* * *

I… will. Even if it takes weeks… months…

John Watson 31 January 12:04

* * *

What's the chance he'd still be alive by the time you reach him?

Unknownuser 31 January 12:06

* * *

Most unlikely..

sallydonavon 31 January 12:08

* * *

SALLY. I do _not _need your opinion for this…

John Watson 31 January 12:13

* * *

Just saying… just saying…

sallydonavon 31 January 12:15

* * *

You have no idea… _no idea_ what Sherlock has just been through…

John Watson 31 January 12:16

* * *

Dammit Lestrade, hurry up!

John Watson 31 January 12:18


	6. The Delivery

AN: Well, remember me? Ha.. well... Sorry about the long wait! I should be doing Art exam preparation, but this needed to be updated! So... here's the first part! It's short, I know, but I'll hopefully post the rest during the week..

* * *

**Baker Street.  
221b.  
9:30am**

Perhaps, John shouldn't have drunk as much as last night. His head hurt, and he felt sick. His back ached too, which was never a good sign, since he had passed out on the sofa. Life wasn't in his favour at all, it seemed. He sat up, pushing the empty bottles away from him. _God, I haven't had a hangover since I was twenty._ He thought, sighing, as he took in the mess he had left during his drunken rage. Poor Mrs Hudson, she'd have a heart-attack if she saw the state of it.  
Making a half-hearted attempt to clear a space, John tried to reconcile the memories of the night before.

_He was angry, so angry. It was his fault, it had to be, why hadn't he seen it before? Maybe if he realised it from the moment that person began commenting, then Sherlock would be here beside him, laughing, joking, and calling him - John Watson - an 'idiot'. Because that's what he was – an idiot. If he was here now, then John Watson 'the idiot' wouldn't be drinking himself to death with alcohol, crying, mourning over what he missed so much.  
He had texted Mycroft jumbled messages, explaining his misery, telling him embarrassing things that he knew he'd regret once he was sober, yet he didn't care. He just wanted Sherlock back. His flatmate… Friend… Life wasn't fair. But never once did the older Holmes brother reply. 'To busy laughing, watching me, the bastard', John had thought bitterly, 'since when did he care about __**me**__?'_

_He had picked up bottle after bottle of beer, drinking it, savouring the moments of drunken pleasure to ease off the memories of the letter, the blog comments. Everything…_

_Not that it worked; it just brought them back, clearer, the images of Sherlock in pain flashed through his mind. And he hated himself, hated himself because of his ignorance. His ignorance lost Sherlock his sanity, his freedom. And it was.** All. His. Fault.** He threw the bottles against the wall, in rage, remembering how he believed the stories were faked; ignoring them, not putting the facts together. He was so angry, drunk, and crying. He wanted his friend back… He wanted…_

"John! There's a delivery for you!" Mrs Hudson called from the doorway, breaking him from his memories. _Delivery? I can't remember ordering anything…_ John slowly turned to face her, confusion beginning to weave across his face.

"What on earth have you done, John? The flats a mess! What happened to its clean state? Is Sherlock back?"

"N-no… Mrs Hudson, he isn't. The flat, I –er…"

"Oh, well, never mind dear. Here's your parcel, it's quite light, mind, and do tell me when Sherlock gets back, will you?" She handed the parcel to John, "Oh, and clean this up. I am not your housekeeper!" And with that, she left.

Examining it, he frowned, trying to remember why he had received a parcel. He turned it over to face the address, and the same chaotic handwriting, similar to the letter from the other day, captured his attention. Then he remembered. The _Delivery_. The one the 'unknownuser' had told him to check tomorrow. And that was today. The parcel was small, square, so what could be inside? _What?_ Opening it carefully, John felt his stomach begin to unsettle. He removed the excess wrapping, and stopped, horror taking hold of him. It was a CD case, with bold lettering stating; "_John, here's a present for you, I'm sure you'll enjoy watching Sherlock's little treat… We know how much you… __**adore**__ him. Sherlock sends his love, Moran._"

Gingerly, he opened the case, and placed the CD into his laptop, hands shaking in fear.

_Oh, god, oh please, don't be what I think it is… Please…_

And pressed play.

* * *

Is that ok? Hope it makes up a bit for the wait...

My plan is to update within 1-2 weeks... And after I go see Frankenstein, I'm sure I will have ideas rolling in more!


	7. The Video

AN: Me again! Here's the next part! Um… warnings for implied-ish rape…. Couldn't bring myself to write it proper, especially as I've never written it before... Anywaaay... Enjoy!

**The Video**

The screen darkened as the video began to play, and after a while, a room appeared. John blinked, suddenly confused; it looked like a normal, ordinary room, though fashioned with an old style, but a normal room.  
The walls were plastered with acorn patterned wallpaper, with sections beginning to fray due to age, and the floor was wooden. He'd expected it to be a dark, stone cell, with no light at all… Not a room that he knew his Nan would have had - but then, he was sure that his Nan would never have had a naked man shackled to the floor, broken, or there to be blood stains on the wall…

_The man…_

He recognised that man. Through all the wounds and bruises, he recognised him; the tall frame, the high cheekbones… even the wild hair that was flattened against the man's face. John knew him; but it couldn't be… it couldn't be! "I did this to him," John thought, leaning back in shock, "I did this… Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry! I should have been there…"

Footsteps echoed within the video. Then a door creaked open, brightening the screen for a second, and then slammed shut.

"_Oh Shirley dear, asleep again are you?_" A voice from off the screen called out, it was followed by a tall man, who John assumed to be Moran, walking onto the screen. "_Come on now; don't want to spoil the fun now, do you? You know I don't like it when you're unconscious… I want to hear you scream… beg for mercy. How can I do that if you're asleep?_" He walked over to Sherlock and nudged him with his foot. No response.

"_Hmm, aren't you wanting to play some more? I'm… I'm extremely disappointed in you, Sherlock. And I'm sure John won't be happy either…_" At the sound of John's name, Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

"_Jo-hn… Wh-what have, y-you…_" John cringed at the hoarseness of his voice, watching him force his body upwards, groaning silently in pain.

"_**Silence**__! Did I say you can speak? No. I didn't think so, you stupid little git_." The man kicked him hard in the ribs, "_Ooh, I haven't touched him, not yet. You see, Holmes, Moriarty,_" Moriarty, this wasn't good, not good at all… "_-isn't interested in your little pet… only you… __**always**__ you._"

"_Mori- of course, why – why didn't I… see it…?_"

"_Oh you sweet little thing, you think Jimmy ordered me to do this? Ha!_" He laughed scornfully, kneeling down beside Sherlock. "_Please, give me some respect._"

"_He… doesn't know I'm – here… does he?_"

"_Oh, bravo, bravo indeed,_" He clapped mockingly, smiling, "_Living up to your high and mighty reputation, I see… All he talks about is you… but why you? You're nothing special! You are NOTHING!_"

"_Jealous of - my attention..?_"

"_Jealous, perhaps… But what's to life without any competition, hmm?_"

"_What are you…?_" Moran had pushed Sherlock back down onto the floor, straddling him. "_-Showing you, that I am __**better**__ than you, stronger, smarter… See how I've turned you into a snivelling wreck… __**all by myself**__!_"

"_No, please, don't-_""_-Look at you. Go on, really look. So vulnerable, open... __**mine**__… I'll show Jim, I'll show Jim really what matters…_"

"_S-stop, get off of me!_" Moran began to grind down hard onto him. John quickly shut his eyes, embarrassment and fear clouding over his face. Moran wouldn't, he couldn't do this… Not to Sherlock… Not _him…_

"_-So weak… tell me, Sherlock, what does it feel like to feel so human, so helpless, scared?_" Clothes rustled, and John felt himself pale.

"_No… no… Stop… you can't…_"

"_Sssh, Shirley, it'll be over soon..._" He gagged as he heard Sherlock moan in pain, but still he kept his eyes shut… He couldn't look… This wasn't happening… it _couldn't_ be! "_Stop struggling, brat, don't you want your special treat?_"

"_Please… I-urgh… __**no…**_"

"_God, so tight…_" Moran's voice wavered between hatred and lust, louder than the whimpering and sobbing heard from beneath him. "_Filthy little - whore...no wonder, Jim wanted you... so much…_"

**11.29am**

The video had finally finished, but still did John not open his eyes. He was petrified with fear, unbelieving to what had happened right before his [closed] eyes. He knew he had to do something… Show someone… but who? Sherlock was in no state to be left there… But what could he do?  
Sighing, he slowly opened them, ignoring the frozen frame of Moran still inside of Sherlock, whose face was torn between humiliation and ashamed pleasure, and closed the player. He opened his blog, and with shaking hands, typed his distress. Surely someone would answer him…

He didn't want to sit here alone. Not after the video, not with the sounds Sherlock had made echoing through his mind… He wasn't _him_; he couldn't just _delete_ stuff… No, he needed someone… Someone who could provide comfort, understand his pain…

He refreshed the blog, and saw someone had commented; _Lestrade… He'd know what to do…_

* * *

What's happened John?  
Lestrade 31 January 11:39

* * *

John closed his eyes, what could he say?

* * *

He… He sent.. a vvideo… He…  
John Watson 31 January 11:49

* * *

He refreshed once more. The reply was almost immediate.

* * *

Right. Get off of the computer. Now. I'm on my way.  
Lestrade 31 January 11:51

* * *

All John could do now was wait…


	8. Lestrade Arrives

Part 6

**Baker Street**

**12.15pm**

As a DI, Lestrade had grown used to hiding his emotions whilst dealing with serious, sickening cases. He always put on a brave face, and by this, it helped the other yarders and the victims' relatives to put up with the situation.

But now, he was struggling.

Now... things were falling out of hand.

He was sat in his car, engine off, outside of 221 Baker Street, trying to pull himself together. Never had he dealt with something so close to home, never with someone he knew. And here he was, thinking; he had promised John that he would be there with him, helping him through this... this nightmare... But how could he? How could he comfort John, when he himself was affected by it too?

He couldn't bring in another DI, they wouldn't understand how serious the situation is, and with Sherlock being the one missing, they probably wouldn't even bother looking at the file...

"Dammit, Lestrade!" He shouted, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel, "Stop this! You are a DI. A police officer. You've dealt with this for years..." he paused, sighing, "John is in there, and he needs you more than he needs anything else... so come on. Pull yourself together!"

Smiling grimly, he climbed out of the car.

* * *

Once reaching the open door of 221b, Lestrade paused. A strong smell of alcohol and sick wafted through the air, and he knew that he should've checked upon John before he had posted on his blog. He must have really suffered from his disappearance, he thought as he stepped into the room. Minding the smashed bottles that were scattered across the floor, Lestrade made his way towards the man asleep on the sofa, and sat himself beside his feet.

"John," he whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's me, Lestrade..."

John's eyes flickered open, "Lestrade, oh thank... god..."

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel crap, dizzy..." John paused, shivering, "Humiliated... Ashamed..."

"Ashamed..?" He watched as John's focus wavered towards the laptop, "Something on your laptop?"

"Get rid of it... please..." Lestrade grabbed the laptop and placed it on his lap, opening the drive.

"Is this the video?" he asked as took out the disc, examining it.

"Yes! Just destroy it!"

"Evidence, John..." John began to pale, what was on that video? "I have to watch it..."

"N-n-no... Don't... Lestrade..."

"John, witholding evidence is not a good idea... I understand that the contents of this video has affected you greatly, but I need to keep it as evidence."

"Lestrade, the video... Don't let others - watch..." Don't let others watch? Oh no...

"Is it really bad?" A nod. "They didn't... oh, John... Come here."

Sitting himself up, John sat beside the DI, rubbing his eyes. Lestrade watched as John tried to compose himself, and not let the flow of tears leak through. Placing his arm around the smaller man, he attempted to comfort him.

"Don't worry, John. We will find him," Lestrade tightened his grip, "trust me, we will... But we need to be strong, and not let," he gestured towards the mess in front of him, "ourselves feel as if they're alone, and take certain measures to feel happier, normal, again."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know why I-"

"-Don't apologise. Look, John, I will always be there, whenever you need me. But now, I need to run this," he waved the disc about, "through with forensics... Store it as evidence, and then I'll come straight back."

"F-fine... I'll stay..."

"Ok, see you later.."

* * *

In his office at Scotland Yard, Lestrade sat himself in his chair, and placed the disc into the PC. A player popped up on the screen, and began to play.

* * *

Four hours later, the DI climbed slowly up the stairs to 221b, thoughts beginning to process through his head. He knew who was the cause of it, Moriarty... Moran's jealousy of his affection towards Sherlock caused him to act out of hand, and... and - _rape_ him.

He stood beside the sofa, and watched as John turned towards him from the kitchen, startled by his unannounced presence. John grimaced and sat down, closing his eyes.

"John," Lestrade inhaled, "I'm sorry..."


	9. Help

Part 7

"John," Lestrade inhaled, "I'm sorry..."

John sighed, "You're sorry? You haven't done anything."

"That's exactly it! I haven't done _anything_... Nothing. What use am I as a Detective Inspector if I haven't done anything?"

"Lestrade, don't say that-"

"My job surrounds horrors like this, lives are lost or ruined because of things like this... I've always managed to surpress myself, keep it low down... For the sake of the others," He sniffed, sitting himself next to John, "But now, I just can't... Not like this... I can't do it anymore!"

"Greg-"

"This has been going on for weeks, and I just let it slip under my nose... and it's _my_ fault... I _sent_ him there, out there after Harrington... And it was a trap, a trap set up for him..."

"Listen, please-"

"And I read those comments on your blog, and I _ignored_ them, letting them pass, and only when you got that letter did I-" John grabbed his arm, silencing him.

"S-stop. This is madness... Don't put yourself down like this, Greg, how were you to know that this would happen? Ok, you're a DI, you're job is to help others. But if you didn't know, how are you s-supposed to help?"

"Says the one who drunk hims-"

"_Don't_." Lestrade froze, "Don't bring my problems into this. So, I got stupidly drunk, but I am never going to do that again. Ever. It won't help. It never has... Nor will this."

"Oh, god," Covering his face with his hands, Lestrade groaned, "John, I'm sorry.. Please understand... All this pressure, this guilt... It hurts... I can't, I can't do this, I-"

"Greg, calm down. We'll get through this, somehow-"

"Where do you get all this confidence from, John? How can you put up with it, with all this?"

"Before London, I was in the Army," Lestrade lowered his hands, blinking in amazement, "- as a Doctor on the frontline. Everyday I treated seriously wounded solidiers, comrades... friends. I just learnt to live with it, staying strong, focused... Being a doctor, you had to keep your feelings aside, hidden deep down, so you weren't distracted... You had to stay confident..."

"I can't imagine you being in the Army..."

He smiled, "I get that a lot."

"But this isn't... Afghanistan?" John nodded, "So what can we do?"

"We stay strong, stick together... and get help."

"Right, I-I'll try," Lestrade stood, "Oh, John... The video... I-"

"Don't, don't say anything about it. What's been done, is done. We can't change what happened, but only try and make things better..."

"Right, you're right..."

There was a moment silence as the two men stared blankly at the skull sat above the fireplace, both thinking deeply. John sighed once more, and moved to turn the kettle on.

"On your blog, you said you contacted someone... I can't remember wh-"

"_Mycroft_."


	10. Mycroft takes control

**AN: It's been awhile since I last updated... But to make up for it, here's a long part!**

Part 8

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft stood up from his desk, sliding a draw open, "you've come for the 'Harrington' files, I presume?" Pulling out the files, he beckoned them to sit down. "Ah, and this must be Detective Inspector Lestrade. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"You've heard of me?"

"Detective Inspector, you work with my brother. You tolerate him. Of course I have heard of you. Now, Harrington..."

"Uh, Mycroft-"

"Quiet, John. You asked me have a look at him, to see what I could find, now listen. I used valuable time in researching him, when I could have been working on the Libyan Uprising," Mycroft paused, shuffling the papers in his hands, "So, for one thing, the man you want for my brother's disappearance is dead. Has been for the last two years."

"Pardon? Dead? Bu-" Mycroft held up a hand, silencing the Inspector.

"- Don't interrupt, Detective Inspector, one thing you should know about me is that I don't have the patience to repeat myself, or stop mid-sentence. Now, whoever you sent my brother out after, they're using an alibi. Impersonating Harrington. But there had to be a reason to pick him," He placed the files onto the table, "why choose a deadman? From what I could find, George Harrington wasn't a very nice man. He had been convicted of several serious assaults, and there had been one major incident of a ra-"

"Mycroft, can I-"

"-pe... Inspector, I've told you before. I don't like-"

"Look, Mycroft, its Sherlock... He-"

"I'm sorry? What abou-" He blinked, _of course_. How could he have not seen it? _Harrington. Look at his convictions, now why take a rapists name. An alibi? No, only if you're after trouble, if you want to be caught... As a message? To make it clear of his intentions? Has to be. Why else would he do it? But that could only mean... _"Oh, I see."

"Mr Holmes, sir, we're doing everything we can, but we can't do it alone. Scotland Yard doesn't have the resources, and the ability, to find a supposedly walking deadman. We need you to stay calm for this, but we - John, he was sent a video and-"

"Show me."

"I'd rather you d-"

"Rather what? Detective Inspector, if you value your badge, I'd advise you to listen to me," Leaning forward, Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "Show me the tape. By not doing so, you're with-holding evidence to a Government investigation. Now, you don't want that to go on to your records, do you?"

"Gov-government investigation?"

"John's told you. _I work for them_. Now, _show me the tape._ How else am I supposed to offer any help _without any evidence?_"

Mycroft frowned as he watched John and Lestrade glance at one another, unsure of what to say to his outburst of power. Sighing, he rubbed his nose and leant back in his chair, watching as the two men began to whisper to one another. It pained him that this wasn't going anywhere, why wouldn't they _listen_? It's obvious that he needed that one piece of evidence to find the location of his bro- Sherlock. Damn his brother. It was _always_ about him. Always him getting into trouble, and leaving Mycroft to get him out of it... _But I promised Mummy I'd look after him, after all, I do worry about him, constantly._

He closed his eyes, and pictured his brother from when they were younger, standing in front of the London Eye, smiling that rare smile of his, laughing... How he missed that nuisance of a sibling, and for him to be kidnapped _right under his nose..._ It really did pis-

"Well," he snapped out of thoughts, and glared towards John, "do you know anything to do with the name 'Moran'?"

"Moran." Why did that sound familiar to him?

"Yeah, he's the one using the alibi... Do you-" Wait, Moran. _Moran!_ Of course!

"Moran! Yes, wait here," Mycroft jumped out of his seat, and paced over to a cabinet to the side. Opening the draw, he sighed, "Moran, ah, this isn't good... Not good at all..."

From behind him John stood up, "Mycroft, who is he?"

"The second most dangerous man that you will ever meet."

"And... the first?"

"Me."

"Really?" _Please don't say John is really __**that**__ gullible..._

"No, of course not. I _should_ be the first, and I consider myself it, yet sadly I'm not... Ah, yes! Found it. Knew Anthea kept it somewhere..." Pulling out the file, Mycroft turned to face them, face grim. "Anyway, you've met the first."

"Moriarty..?"

"Yes. James, or Jim as I seem to remember Sherlock say, Moriarty. The pyschopathic 'consulting criminal'. My dear brother's archnemesis. The one who threw the _damn_ Bruce Parkington(?) disk into that pool..." He stopped, Moriarty. A _consulting criminal_... _Moran._ "A link, there's a link. There must be a link."

"Mycroft, tell me about Moran, " John asked, joining the older Holmes' side.

"What is there to say? Like you, he was fighting in Afghanistan, a colonel, entirely devoted to his military career. He was praised for his talent at marksmanship, since he never missed a target, and was honoured by many. But even with his reputation, he was suddenly forced to retire from the army. An incident occured that had been kept hidden, looked away from prying eyes..." Mycroft passed a file to Lestrade, "But it didn't escape mine. Sebastian Moran was caught in a scandal. Murdering innocent civilians, and the selling of British weapon supplies wasn't accepted within their regiment, and so he was court martialled. But how he managed to pass the trial lightly? I have no clue. It's clear bribery had happened, or they were afraid. Always be afraid of the men you train, especially if they're the talented ones. You never know when they'll turn. Anyway, once he arrived back in London-"

"He vanished."

"Exactly. And this is where it links."

"You keep saying it links," John said, whilst rereading the file, "but where and what exactly does it link?"

"Moran and Moriarty. To be let off so easily must mean someone of a higher power, someone dangerous had been involved. Moriarty must have heard of Moran's talents, and-"

"-And wanted it for himself!" Lestrade slammed the file onto the table, "Of course! In the video, he mentioned Moriarty, said how he felt jealous because of his obsession with Sherlock... He must have bargained with him, allowing him to work for Moriarty if the criminal made his trial pass lightly..."

"Lestrade. I've told you twice now... Don't interrupt. Wait. What? He's in the video?"

"Yes. I, er- well... Look..."

"This is _why_ I need to see it, John. Do you understand? I'm missing out important factors towards the problem, and I never rely people's memories of whats been said, as the average human memory is only 62%-"

"Accurate... I know..."

"_John_. If you need my help, I must see the tape. I'll see what I can deduce from it. With Sherlock not being here, I'm what's left. You need to-"

"Mycroft."

"John, he's my _brother_. Least of you could do is show it to me. If I'm to help you, I need to. _See. The. Tape_."

"Lestrade," John sighed, "I think, it's the only way, could you?"

The DI stood, nodded, and held his hand out to Mycroft, "A pleasure meeting you too, Mr Holmes, but I don't think this is a good idea... I've already... No, I'll go get it from the Yard."

Mycroft took his hand, "You do that, and your concern is appreciated. I know what I'm doing, and please, don't fret. I can handle this. We know who the culprit is, but not his whereabouts. And by the sounds of it, you're aware of his motive. Bring the tape to me in three hours, my team and I will be ready waiting for you."

"I'll see you then." John stood too, and began to follow Lestrade out the door.

"Oh, and John?"

"Yes, Mycroft?"

"Thank you, for everything."

"I - uh... No problem. You know I'll do anything for him, and I will find him, remember that."

"I know you will, but that's not what I'm worried about."

John frowned, "What is it then?"

"It's what we will _find_."


End file.
